Reflections
by Berne
Summary: When Jack looked into the Turners' wishing well he saw a captured piece of sky.


A/N: Much love to Ociwen and Thalia for betaing.

Disclaimer: All belongs to Disney.

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Reflections

When Jack looked into the Turners' wishing well he saw a captured piece of sky.

And it wasn't right. It wasn't right that the water reflected so perfectly; it wasn't right that it was so bloody _still_. No tides, no waves, no nothing. Just a deadly calm.

Cautiously, he uncurled his fingers and let the pebble in his hand fall.

Now _that_ was more like it. The scene was troubled: water-windows splintered; tree limbs tangled; his own reflection closed in on itself like a fan. So there _was_ a little life left in it after all. But no freedom. And what was life without freedom?

Jack spun the wooden pail between his hands and set his jaw. Well, he knew how to remedy _that_.

Will and Elizabeth gazed out of their bedroom window curiously. Jack Sparrow was staring into their wishing well with a look of deep consternation etched into his face. This, perhaps, would not have been terribly alarming had Will not known that Jack had been standing there for the best part of an hour.

"What is he _looking_ at?" Elizabeth demanded, pulling out of his arms and pressing her nose against the glass. Mist flared up when she exhaled and she wiped it away with an impatient hand.

Will did not answer. He had soon come to realise, after their exploits with That Bloody Aztec Curse and Those Bloody Pirates (as dubbed by Elizabeth), that he could never hope to follow the sideways -- and highly debatable -- logic of Captain Jack Sparrow. Elizabeth had yet to arrive at the same conclusion and seemed determined to burn a hole through the glass with her glare.

Will's qualms intensified as he watched Jack toss the wooden pail between clever fingers before leaning precariously over the wall of the well and emerging with a bucketful of water. His hat had threatened to slip off, but now he tucked the pail under one arm and placed his tricorn on the stone wall with exaggerated care.

Then, without any apparent reservations, he upended the pail, sending water skidding across the courtyard, down the steps, over the Governor's prized lawns.

"_That bloody pirate!_"

And Elizabeth was gone in a flurry of skirts. Will stayed for a moment, watching as Jack emerged from the well with another pail of water, and then he followed, exhaling heavily. It was going to be One of Those Days.

"Jack Sparrow!"

Will winced at the near-shriek in Elizabeth's voice. And then he surveyed the mess around him. The lawn was sodden, the flower beds were waterlogged, earth seeping over the courtyard, water making leaps into the soggy grass below, glittering like curved glass in the bright sunshine.

Elizabeth hadn't even paused in her stride: she was already marching up the steps, skirts bunched in her hands, stockings splashed with mud.

"Jack Sparrow!"

Will thanked the high heavens that the Governor's house was set back from the main town of Port Royal, because when Elizabeth shrieked she _shrieked_. He jogged up the lawns just in time to catch Jack's alarmed yelp as he manoeuvred himself behind the well.

"Jack Sparrow, what are you _doing_?"

He didn't answer, only launched himself forward to scoop up another pail of water before sending it splashing over the courtyard stones.

"You wretch!" Elizabeth let go of her skirts and stalked around the well, Jack evading her easily, still clutching the pail to his chest. "You horrid, horrid _pirate!_"

Jack's sudden grin did nothing to calm her -- only tore a strangled, furious cry from her throat. His eyes widened and darted over to Will, who scrubbed a hand over his face as Jack bolted down the steps, ducking behind him.

Elizabeth was storming back down the lawn, movements only marginally impaired by the saturated dress slapping heavily around her ankles.

"Don't you dare try to hide, Jack Sparrow! Don't you _dare_!"

"She's gone mad, mate," Jack muttered into Will's ear, pulling him along as he shuffled backwards down the lawns. "Mad as a hatter."

Elizabeth was now in front of him, hands on hips, mouth twisted into a scowl.

"Move, William Turner."

Will considered her warily, but did nothing. Her eyes narrowed. She took another step forward. Will gulped. "Elizabeth, maybe you need to--"

Her howl of rage made him stumble backwards, expecting to brace himself against Jack. But Jack was gone, racing back towards the courtyard. And then, just as quickly, he was on the ground, having been tackled by Elizabeth. Will ran over in time to seize her around the waist before she could recover from the fall, but the ground was wet and Elizabeth's sopping dress was so bloody _heavy_ and it didn't take much before they had both collapsed on the lawns, gasping for breath.

A snort floated over the still air and Will lifted his head enough to see Jack on his stomach, helpless tremors running through him. His face was pressed into the muddy grass, but Will could see the glint of teeth underneath the fall of matted hair.

Elizabeth, still panting, rolled over and swatted at him. "It's not funny, Jack."

He wiggled the fingers of his free hand at her. "'Course, love. Not funny at all."

Turning his head, the grin belayed his words. Elizabeth's mouth twitched and Will smiled up at the sky, moving his arm to rest across her stomach. She looked at him. "I'm not going to hit him, you know."

"I should hope not," said Jack, in a grievously put upon tone. Will rolled his eyes, glimpsing one of Jack's arms encompassing the gardens in an expansive gesture. "Looks infinitely better than before, anyway -- _ouch!_"

"These are my father's favourite gardens, Jack! And--" Elizabeth's voice was getting perilously close to a shriek again and so Will pulled her closer to him, pressing a kiss into her neck. "And…and…" She trailed off, sighing. "And I can't concentrate when you keep doing that, Will!"

Jack muttered something under his breath and slid on his stomach until his head was beside theirs, fingers tracing patterns in the air. A few moments of relative silence passed (Will could just catch Jack humming under his breath) before he finally surrendered to his curiosity and asked, "What on earth were you doing?"

Will raised himself up on his elbows, Elizabeth following suit, a glower threatening to darken her features. "Yes, Jack, why _did_ you feel the need to flood my father's gardens and ruin our well?"

Jack mumbled something that sounded decidedly irritable before saying, more distinctly (although no more coherently), "Freedom."

Will blinked. Elizabeth frowned.

"_Freedom_? Freedom of _what_, exactly?"

Jack lifted his head and looked at Elizabeth in disbelief. Water dripped from the bone in his hair and the front of his headscarf was dark with damp. Will resisted the urge to reach over and wipe the streaks of mud from his face.

"Freedom," Jack said again, his expression indicating that this should be explanation enough and that they were both fools not to see it.

"Freedom… Freedom of our well water?" asked Elizabeth, gingerly.

Jack smiled, his eyes sparking with something that could have been amusement. "You've spent too much time on land, darling. Can you not see?"

Elizabeth seemed to take this as a slight on her intelligence and she glared, causing Jack's grin to widen, causing more gold to glitter. "And _what_, precisely, are we supposed to--"

"Freedom?" Will interrupted, ignoring the venomous look that was shot at him.

Jack nodded fervently, beads swinging. "Aye, freedom." At Will's increasingly perplexed look, he said, "I thought you valued freedom, Will Turner."

"Of course I do, but--"

"Water doesn't deserve freedom?"

Will frowned, feeling his head start to ache. "It's _water_. It's not alive. It's--"

"No!" Will jerked back in surprise as Jack clapped a hand over his mouth. He was on his knees, breeches smeared with mud, shirt damp against Will's skin. His wide-eyed alarm would have been amusing had Will enough breath to voice it. Jack eventually lowered his hand, a strange smile playing on his mouth.

"Don't worry, lad," he said, patting Will on the shoulder consolingly. "You can't help it if you can't see it."

And in that moment Will desperately, _desperately_ wanted to see. He supposed he should have found the look that Jack was giving him patronising and there was a certain amount of disbelief as he realised this. As he realised his own disappointment that he _couldn't_ see. Once again, just like during his highly…enlightening experiences with That Bloody Aztec Curse and Those Bloody Pirates, he had a strong feeling of being completely out of his depth, as though Jack's explanation was grounded and Will was merely a simpleton who couldn't put two and two together. The utter conviction in the other man's voice was enough to convince him that his own perceptions were obviously skewered, and that if he could just look the right way he might be able to see.

But as Jack collapsed back onto the grass he thought, with a strong sense of inadequacy, that it was not going to be today.

"Jack, you can't sleep here," murmured Elizabeth. Her eyes had fluttered shut, her fingers tracing lazy circles over Will's palm, all anger dissipated into the quiet of the afternoon.

"Aye, there's a storm brewing."

Will closed his eyes, feeling the blazing sun already drying out his clothes. "Whatever you say, Jack."

Jack tipped the final bucketful of water across the courtyard with a feeling of immense satisfaction. Will and Elizabeth were young and rather innocent -- when they weren't knocking people unconscious with oars or shrieking like banshees, that is. Or when extracting scoundrels from the clutches of the King's law, for that matter. He didn't expect them to understand, despite the comical amount of conflict he had seen in Will's eyes. He took life far too seriously for one so young.

Bill had understood more than his son had, but Jack only saw him now in flashes of Will's expressions, or when he was extremely intoxicated. But that couldn't be helped, because in those times he also tended to set fire to things, spend ridiculous amounts of gold on crates of bananas and weave tales about mermaids and witches and sea monsters. Apparently.

He picked up his hat and pulled it low over his eyes before heaving himself on top of the looming walls of the dear Governor's property. Balancing there unsteadily for a moment, he jumped down into the forest below, almost losing his hat in the foliage.

The _Black Pearl_ was waiting for him, some way off, and he could feel the gathering storm at the back of his throat, like the bitter aftertaste of fine rum. Setting off down a little-trodden trail, Jack grinned. "Here's to you, William Turner," he mumbled, tipping his hat, "for conceiving such a stick of a son. Couldn't have done better myself."

But maybe he had been a little hard on the lad, because the next time he visited the Turners the well was gone.


End file.
